More prominently, she was involved in Toronto’s independent music scene -- her affiliations included Parks and Rec, and her own band Radio Belle.

I remember speaking to Cristina at a holiday party, the year before she left us. I asked where I could get her music. She flashed that gorgeous smile of hers, and laughed.

“How sweet of you to ask!” she said. Then she gave me a hug.

She was beginning to perform regularly in numerous venues around town. She had an expressive voice, an infectious exuberance, and a restive talent. Who among us wasn’t secretly in love with her, a little?

After she passed away, I would listen every now and then to a fado performance of Cristina’s, hosted on the website of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.

To my disappointment one day, I discovered that CBC Radio had changed their online archives -- the concert was no longer available for streaming. The memento of her voice was silenced.

So I wrote to them, and asked if it was possible to get a copy.

Months passed, without any response. I assumed I would never hear back. My note was lost in the ether. But then amazingly, about a year after I wrote in, someone found and replied to my message.(I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, so I won’t name names. I sincerely thank them for their help.)

It took some patience, but recently I finally managed to obtain this pair of audio recordings of Cristina, singing for Anima Fado on May 19, 2010, at the Lula Lounge.

There is a complex word associated with fado, saudade, that is briefly discussed near the end of the second set (~15:53). Subtleties and nuance often get lost in translation, but saudade nevertheless seems to capture how many of us feel about the loss of such a bright, vibrant talent.

The days pass by, ever onwards. Though our memory fades, and the light dwindles in the distance, still there remains a place in our hearts where she touched us; still do we long to see that smile once more.